


No Notion of Halves

by LullabyKnell



Series: LullabyKnell's Dragon Age Fics [3]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Blue-Purple Hawke, Brief Carver Hawke, Complete, Conversations, Crushes, Fenris Has Issues, Fenris Needs a Hug, Fluff, Friendship, Gen or Pre-Slash, Getting to Know Each Other, Gossip, Hawke being Hawke, M/M, Mage Hawke (Dragon Age), Male Friendship, POV Third Person, Swearing, Talking, Teasing, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000, reading lessons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 10:55:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13500398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LullabyKnell/pseuds/LullabyKnell
Summary: One of Hawke and Fenris' early reading lessons. It devolves into just hanging out with acrushfriend.Pre-slash set after Act 1 and before the A Bitter Pill quest (Hadriana).





	No Notion of Halves

**Author's Note:**

> Someone prompted me to talk about Hawke teaching Fenris to read and... this happened. There's no actual reading lesson going on here, though, it picks up after a reading lesson in Hawke's home, just before the lesson devolves into friendly banter and conversation. I just really wanted to write about Fenris and Hawke being friends becoming even better friends, even before they became romantically involved (this is definitely pre-slash FenHawke). There's no plot or romance; it's definitely pre-slash (especially on Hawke's side, bc I do like the idea of Hawke just head-over-heels for their LI) but also definitely Friendship first (despite any romantic interest). 
> 
> This takes place in the aftermath of Act 1, either right before or at the very beginning of Act 2 (although Aveline's Donnic quest has already happened). My memory of DA2 events are very sketchy and I have a lot of headcanons (potential Merribela is mentioned in the background of this), so while it shouldn't be confusing, bear with me. Carver, for instance, features heavily in the background of this, as a minor/support character: a Templar!Carver who is still on good/visiting terms with his brother and his family.

 

Fenris would have thrown the book across the room in disgust, but it wasn’t his book and it wasn’t his room, so he threw it down on the sofa between them instead.

“This is _impossible,_ ” he declared.

Hawke rubbed at his eyes. “It just takes practice,” he said, in the voice of someone who had been helping this practice for over an hour. “I helped teach Bethany and Carver to read. If Carver can learn how to read, you can too.”

Carver, visiting home for a few days, called out from the other room, “I heard that!”

“Then you should have heard the _incredible pride_ in my voice at raising such a _wonderful little brother,_ who grew up to be a _great templar and eavesdropper,_ ” Hawke shouted back. “Fuck off already, Carver! Go visit Merrill or something!”

“You fuck off!” Carver yelled, but stomped obligingly to another end of the new Hawke mansion.

“Sorry about him. He came home just after Mother left for her tea club, and now he’s bored because he refused all of my great suggestions,” Hawke said, turning back to Fenris.

Fenris looked tempted to do the same thing.

“Hey,” Hawke said.

“That’s because all of your suggestions start with drinking with Varric and end with getting arrested by Aveline,” Fenris scoffed, turning away, scooting farther away from the book and, on the book’s other side, Hawke.

“No, hey,” Hawke said, and reached over to put a comforting hand next to Fenris’ knee. Not actual contact. Not yet. “Hey, c’mon, look here.”

Fenris still eyed the hand warily, before he looked up at Hawke.

“Firstly, no, they don’t. That is a blatant lie. Sometimes they start with drinking with Isabela and end with getting healed by Anders,” Hawke said, and grinned when Fenris cracked a smile. “Secondly, you’re learning _amazingly_ quickly. Remember when Varric taught you how to play Holy Wife and you were beating him more than half the time by the end of the night? It was amazing. I learned, like, a dozen new curse words that night.”

“They were mostly curse words you already knew, simply prefaced with the word ‘nug’,” Fenris said. He looked bemused, but then that dark expression crossed his face again. He moved his clenched fists to the far side of his lap. “And that is different.”

 “I don’t really see how, but alright,” Hawke said. “Reading’s hard, and writing’s harder. I’m pretty good at reading and I _still_ have to practice to keep up with Varric. I have had words applied to my illustrious figure that I’m still too scared to admit I don’t know the meaning of, much less how to spell them. And sometimes I forget how to read or write altogether. I told you about that time I forgot how to spell ‘prove’, right?”

“No, Varric only mentions it at least once every week and I have yet to know what he’s talking about,” Fenris said sarcastically. “And that is different still. You’re…” He trailed off, then said, more strongly, “I am not you.”

“No, you’re three times smarter, at least,” Hawke said.

Fenris rolled his eyes, but he unclenched his fists in his lap. “Flattery will get us nowhere,” he said, glancing at the book again. “This is a book for _children,_ Hawke, and I cannot manage it.”

“Flattery has gotten me _everywhere,_ thanks, and I picked this book to try and challenge you. If anything, it’s my fault, expecting you to pick this up as quickly as you do everything else,” Hawke insisted. “We’ll just keep trying. I mean, hey, it’s gotta stick eventually, right?”

If anything, Fenris looked even unhappier. His ears were tilted down and his shoulders were hunched, and he wouldn’t look Hawke in the eye anymore.

“You’ve just started, Fenris,” Hawke said quietly. “Cut yourself some slack.”

Fenris’ ears tilted further down as he stared at the floor. “I will never learn this well, Hawke,” he said, bitterly. Not angrily, though, but sure. Accepting. Defeated and ashamed of having tried.

Hawke hated that voice. He’d heard it before, more than a few times, either before Fenris went to shut himself up in his mansion for several days, or when they were drinking together and the mood turned melancholy before Hawke could do anything to stop it.

“I am not meant for this,” Fenris said.

There was tension in his shoulders now, a twitch to his leg, and Hawke opened his mouth to tell a joke, to make some quip, to distract from the argument before it could devolve into anger and flight. But then he caught sight of something just past Fenris, and said instead:

“I have an idea.”

At this, Fenris looked up - almost, he still didn’t look at Hawke’s face - vaguely suspicious and alarmed. Hawke stood up and grinned down at him, until Fenris finally glanced at his face.

“Let’s take a break before a fight breaks out,” Hawke said. “Mum always said we had to take a break when things were getting too upsetting, and someone’s nose got broken again. Usually me or Carver’s. Bethy had a killer right hook.”

“...I think I can refrain from breaking your nose over a children’s book,” Fenris said dryly.

“Not a common Kirkwall attitude, let me tell you. You, you incredibly kind ser, are passing up an opportunity people would kill for, and I thank you for it,” Hawke said brightly, and then lifted his arms and tapped his nose, which had indeed been broken several times, in thought. He began to pace dramatically. “Let’s do something else for a bit. Let the letters soak in.”

“I have no desire to get arrested by Aveline or healed by the abomination.”

“ _Anders_ has a name, Fenris. Probably. I mean, I’m pretty sure that Anders isn’t actually his name, but deep inside, under all those feathers, he does have one. Except since we don’t know it, we’ll call him by the name he gave us, which, frankly, is the worst fake name he could have chosen. That’s what he picks? How often do you get to change your entire identity?”

“On a frighteningly frequent basis if you are the person generally referred to as Isabela,” Fenris said. “Do not tell me what you would name yourself, Hawke. I do not hate my hearing yet.”

Hawke made an affronted noise as he paced. “Rude.”

“Your dog is named Apawstate, Hawke.”

“It’s a noble name!” Hawke protested. “And you’ve seen the templars’ expressions after they figure out I’m shouting at my dog, right? Classic! Knight-Captain Cullen looked like he wanted to die on the spot! Were you there for that? Shit, I don’t think you were there for that.”

“I’ve seen Carver’s expressions,” Fenris allowed.

“Ugh, you should have heard the rant about trying not to draw attention. As though I can get out of drawing attention. I don’t go looking for attention; attention comes looking for me.” Hawke stopped pacing and struck a playful pose. “Might as well make a stand and bask in it, right?”

“If attention comes looking for you, it is because the dwarf has been sending it in your direction with a description, made of overly floral prose,” Fenris said, and looked briefly down at the book, before to the floor again. “Hawke, if we are finished, I will be taking my leave and no more of your time.”

“Oh, well, if you really want to go, sure,” Hawke said, with great disappointment. “But I thought we were making great progress, and I was hoping you’d stay for a bit.”

Fenris sighed, and said, more insistently, “Hawke. This is a fruitless endeavour, and I will not waste your time and mine like this.”

“I don’t ever think you’re wasting my time.”

Fenris, still staring at the ground, looked stricken for a moment. His ears twitched, before he smoothed his expression over again. “You are a poor judge of most things, Hawke.”

“You are on a roll with this slander today,” Hawke said, and put his hands on his hips. “I like your company, Fenris, I’m not ever going to think you’re wasting my time. _But..._ if you want to pay me back for the reading lessons… which are _free_ … we can figure something out.”

Fenris frowned. “Hawke, I have little that-”

“You can teach me how to use a sword!” Hawke declared brightly, and quickly walked the few steps necessary to snatch up Fenris’ greatsword at the far end of the sofa. He immediately nearly dropped it on his own foot. “ _Shit,_ Fenris, what is this _made of?”_

Fenris quickly got to his feet. “Metal. Like most blades,” he said. “Hawke-”

“No, no, I got it!” Hawke clumsily managed to unsheathe the blade and lifted it in front of him with both hands, into an attempt to mimic one of Fenris’ stances. It wasn’t bad, except how it was. Hawke was a staff fighter, a _mage,_ not a swordsman, and it showed.

Especially as the sheath, leaning haphazardly against the sofa, tipped over and clattered directly onto Hawke’s foot.

“Hawke, _watch yourself-”_

Hawke yelped and the sword dipped, and suddenly Hawke and Fenris were both staring wide-eyed at the greatsword in Hawke’s hands.

Specifically: how the sword was now embedded several inches deep into the sofa’s arm.

“Whoops,” Hawke said.

Fenris pressed a hand to his face and sighed.

“Mother is… probably going to kill me for this. Do you think Bodahn can fix this before she comes back from her club? Fenris. Fenris, I want you all to give wildly conflicting stories of my life at my funeral. And Varric gets to talk for at least an hour, alright?”

“Hawke,” Fenris said sternly. “Why would you believe swinging a blade about in your sitting room would ever be a good idea? _Don’t_ pull it free-”

Hawke was already pulling the greatsword free, stepping away from the sheath, and holding it in front of him. He swung it very gently, as though testing it, and it was frighteningly clear that he had little to no clue of what he was doing.

“I don’t know,” Hawke said simply. “I’ve always wanted to learn. It seems like a good skill to have. It can’t be that hard. If Carver can do it, then so can I, right?”

Fenris stared disbelievingly, because this was a new level of foolishness, even for Hawke. He’d never shown so much disrespect for any of their skill sets before. Yet now Hawke waved the sword carefully again, apparently obtuse.

“Hawke, it takes at least _months of training_ to be able to wield a blade even decently,” Fenris said.

“Well, I guess so. I know it took Carver a couple years, and he was always practicing and learning new things, but I’m good at fighting, right? I should be able to pick it up much faster than he did as a kid,” Hawke said, and performed a slow, dramatic slash that was little more than a waste of energy and unbalanced besides.

“Perhaps you might be able to learn at a faster rate than a child, Hawke,” Fenris said slowly, irritation seeping into his voice. “But that is no excuse to suddenly wave a sword about like a fool trying to lose a toe.”

“No, no, I know so many people who use swords, I should be able to do it too.”

“Give me my blade, Hawke.”

Hawke turned and, seeing Fenris’ serious expression, lowered the sword. He held it out gingerly, and Fenris stomped forward to snatch it up. Fenris held the greatsword in one hand and bent down to pick up the sheath, and resheathed the blade immediately. Hawke watched all of this with a curious expression, undaunted by Fenris’ disapproving glare towards his chest.

“How do you swing that pigsticker around all the time?” Hawke wondered. “I had it for a couple minutes and my arms are already screaming bloody murder.”

“Practice,” Fenris said shortly. Once the blade was sheathed, he slammed the handle into Hawke’s chest and said warningly, “Do _not_ ever do that again.”

“Fair enough,” Hawke wheezed.

“If you do wish to learn how to use a sword, I will teach you, and the first lesson is _not_ to maim your mother’s furniture and nearly yourself.” Fenris retracted the sheathed blade, but then actually glared up into Hawke’s eyes, ears turned down. “Nor to take up my belongings without permission.”

“Oh, shit, sorry,” Hawke said, wide-eyed and sincere. “Sorry, Fenris, I won’t do that again.”

“Good,” Fenris said, and looked away again. He stepped away too.

A silence fell between them that lasted several several seconds.

“So,” Hawke said, when the silence threatened to become too much, “I guess it’d be somewhat ridiculous to expect to immediately pick up a new skill, huh?”

Fenris looked up from the floor and back towards Hawke, who grinned sheepishly.

“Hawke, you…”

“In my defense, I thought it would be funnier than it was.”

Fenris stared, then said, “It wasn’t.”

Hawke slumped. “Not even a little bit? Shit, I’m losing my touch. In more ways than one, I did _not_ mean to do that to the sofa.” He leaned forward to peer at the wound. “Mother really is going to kill me for that. Oh, well, tell Isabela I want at least one deeply inappropriate incident at my funeral, like extremely obvious flirting with my mother, who was the one to kill me.”  

“Hawke…”

“Never mind, she probably already knows, deep in her heart of hearts.”

Fenris paused, then sighed, and turned away from Hawke and said, “Some might argue that Isabela doesn’t have a heart.”

“Well, some people don’t know what they’re talking about, like incredibly intelligent, multi-lingual elves who think learning to read is beyond them for some reason,” Hawke said firmly. Then, he added gently, “Fenris, I know it’s frustrating, but I don’t think there’s anything you can’t do. If you can’t believe that you can do this, at least believe that I _know_ you can do this.”

“...I would tell you not to play tricks on me again, but we both know that is a promise you can’t keep,” Fenris said, instead of focusing on… any of what Hawke had just said. He could not turn to look at Hawke again, not even as Hawke laughed.

“Would you believe me if I said that Varric and Isabela are terrible influences?” Hawke said, moving around the back of the sofa to come around its other side. He sat again, bringing his smile into Fenris downturned line of vision.

“Yes, but I would not attribute the blame solely to them, or to them at all,” Fenris answered and, clutching his blade tightly, slowly sat down where he’d been sitting before. He glanced down at the book, now between them again. “I... do not wish to fail to read a children’s book anymore today, Hawke.”

“That’s alright,” Hawke said. “Me neither. We can try something else another day. And before you know it, you’ll be coming back to kick this book’s ass. Figuratively, I mean.”

“Figuratively? Disappointing,” Fenris drawled, and carefully laid his blade down next to him, again on the far side from Hawke.

“Whenever Aveline finally figures out how to literally kick a book’s ass, you’ll be the first to know,” Hawke promised. Then he corrected himself, “From me. Varric will probably be the first to know from her. I’ll find out by watching this happen and being helpless to stop it.”

Fenris made a bemused sound.

“You laugh now, but I’d like to see you get in front of Aveline’s sword.”

“You could do that,” Fenris said. “We spar occasionally.”

Hawke gave Fenris an incredulous look. “You do-? How did I not know this? How’s that go?”

“It’s frequently embarrassing and occasionally terrifying,” Fenris admitted. “I would not volunteer to step between Aveline and the dwarf either.” Then, after several seconds of thought, said, “Learning another weapon besides the staff would not be a poor idea for you.”

“I know a bit of knives from Isabela,” Hawke said.

“That throwing game doesn’t count, especially when you are both drunk,” Fenris said. “You are not well-practiced in them. A secondary weapon for the occasions that you lose your staff or run out of mana could save your life, Hawke.” Fenris’ expression was serious now; he was keeping eye contact. “The lack of one has nearly killed you several times already.”

“Lots of things have nearly killed me several times already,” Hawke said jokingly, but this fell flat as Fenris’ expression stayed serious. “Fenris, I was kidding when I suggested you pay me back for the reading lessons. There are no strings attached, I swear.”

Fenris lifted his chin. “Then I am attaching strings,” he said firmly. “I am proficient in many weapons, melee especially. We will find you a secondary weapon and I will teach you.”

“That’s, um, really not necessary.”

“I disagree. I will hold you to this, as you shall hold me to these lessons,” Fenris said, with a gesture down at the book between them. “Hawke, allow me to repay you how I can.”

Hawke stared at Fenris’ serious expression and quailed under the sincerity. “If you… really insist, I guess…” Fenris began to smile and Hawke continued with helpless dedication, “Yeah, of course, we can make a trade, if you’re willing. It’ll be fun.”

“Excellent,” Fenris said, sitting back with satisfaction.

“A great idea,” Hawke said weakly.

“How much do you truly know of swordsmanship?” Fenris asked. “Did you learn at all alongside Carver? Or are you exactly as inept at the blade as you appeared?”

“That bad, huh?”

“I have seen and fought worse.”

“That’s… encouraging?” Hawke said, and laughed. “I don’t really know anything about the sword. Bethy and I learned staffwork and magic from our father, and Mother knows a bit of fencing - you know, that fancy Antivan stuff the nobles do?” Fenris nodded and Hawke continued, “So she gave Carver some lessons to try and placate him? Except she doesn’t know much, so Carver had to beg and earn lessons off local soldiers and guards.”

“I didn’t know,” Fenris said. “That is admirable.”

“Yeah, I guess it is. It mostly just seemed really stubborn at the time, or fair, since Carver couldn’t learn with me and Bethy. Mother and Father paid for his lessons when we could afford it. I only ever learned exactly as much staffwork as I had to, enough to disguise my abilities, enough to get in a big enough hit to run away. Street fighting, mostly.”

“You had been a smuggler for a year, when I met you,” Fenris realized. “That style of fighting would serve you well, in that profession, but… direct combat on a larger scale would be…”

“Not my thing, unless I’m throwing fire around,” Hawke finished. “It’s not obvious, so long as I’m only facing some Lowtown gang, or bandits on the coast, and I’ve got someone like you, or Carver, or Aveline with me.” He wriggled his fingers and said wryly, “Magic makes making it up as I go along a lot easier.”

“But it could become a crutch, and it _will,_ if you rely on it too much,” Fenris warned. “If it has not already. You may wish to warn the a- _Anders-_ ” Fenris’ face pinched slightly. “-and Merrill to learn a secondary weapon as well, in the interest of safety.”

“Careful, Fenris, or I’ll start to think you like them.”

“The cost of my mistakes,” Fenris said wryly. “Trying to minimize losses as you take us on increasingly absurd and dangerous outings. I am serious, though, Hawke. Between the loss of your brother and Aveline’s increased duties as Captain of the Guard, I will be the only warrior in our party, and I cannot be everywhere at once.”

Hawke made a face of reluctant agreement. “Isabela might be interested in teaching Merrill some moves,” he said thoughtfully.

Fenris’ mouth quirked up. “Possibly.”

Hawke grinned. “Fenris.”

“Would you believe me if I said Varric and Isabela are terrible influences?” Fenris said wryly. “I agree, it would not be a bad idea. I believe Isabela has given the w- Merrill advice on self-defense before, when she came to the city, and not all of it was an excuse to flirt.”

“Did she? That was a good idea. Shit, I didn’t even think about that.”

“You were busy, between the expedition and your quests, and the witch is a grown woman.”

“Still. I know we weren’t friends yet, but I should have made time.”

Fenris looked at Hawke fondly. “You need not fret, Hawke, this is a precaution more than a necessity. I have seen the wit- Merrill break a man’s fingers before, for trespassing on the alienage to harass the locals.”

“Really?” Hawke said. “Merrill? Really?”

Fenris nodded. “Yes. She was smiling all the while. It was somewhat impressive.”

“That… does sound like Merrill,” Hawke said, then looked thoughtfully towards Fenris. “What were you doing in the alienage? I was under the impression you weren’t… ‘overly fond of it’? I think that’s what you said.”

“When I must buy something, I go to the alienage first, if I can,” Fenris said shortly. “And sometimes the witch is not enough to dissuade disruptive visitors.”

“Well… shit,” Hawke said, his expression concerned. “I should do that. The shopping thing, and… I don’t know about patrolling. People used to knock on our door for help, when they didn’t want to bring in the guards, when we lived in Lowtown, but we’re a bit far now. I know the alienage doesn’t like having strange men just wandering in and out of their home.”

“No, they don’t,” Fenris agreed.

“I didn’t even think about people not knocking on our door anymore, but between the expedition and the move and the renovations…” Hawke trailed off. “I should let Varric and Bodahn know, to spread the word. If I’m going to sit in this massive house and be a fucking _lord,_ I should do something with it, right?”

Fenris raised his brows. “You could always sit about this house, boring yourself with increasingly wasteful and meaningless luxuries, in that hideous bathrobe you insist on using to harm the world’s eyes.”

“It is _comfortable_ and belonged to my grandfather,” Hawke said defensively.

Fenris hummed, unconvinced.

“Apawstate likes it.”

“Apawstate is a dog, Hawke. She has no taste.”

“Well, that explains why she likes to drink out of street puddles,” Hawke said, then sat back and sighed. “I need to get out more again. Start going on some adventures, before I end up going with Mother and Apawstate to _tea clubs_ and _garden parties._ ”

“The horror,” Fenris said dryly.

Hawke pointed a threatening finger. “You laugh, but I swear they’re trying to marry me off, as soon as they can pretend to forget the Amells’ brief time in the ‘Lowtown stink’. I feel like a _nug_ surrounded by starving wolves - wolves in frilly Antivan lace dresses and powdered Orlesian wigs and paint.”

Fenris did laugh this time, lightly. “Share that with the dwarf, Hawke, who will be delighted to hear you are willing to continue writing the plots of his books for him.”

“I will, thanks,” Hawke said, sitting back and sniffing with dramatic offense.

Fenris echoed this, leaning back on the sofa.

“Do you think Isabela would be willing to teach Anders some self-defense too?” Hawke said worriedly. “I can’t tell with him. He used to be a Warden, right? He might already know the basics of another weapon or two.”

“I am not in the habit of visiting Darktown, and he is a proficient enough mage that I have never seen him have a need,” Fenris said, almost sourly. “And that is not a compliment, Hawke, merely an observation. As well as a stark contrast to _another mage_ with a bad habit of wandering too close to the melee.”

“You wound me, ser,” Hawke said. “But, alright, I take your point. I’ll ask him about it sometime.”

“I am not the one threatening to wound you,” Fenris muttered.

“Uh, yes? You definitely are,” Hawke said. “Apparently you’re going to beat me up on a regular basis, in the name of teaching me how to fight not like the Lowtown farmboy-turned-smuggler-turned-layabout apostate that I am. Do you know when you want to do this? Is anytime not good for you?”

“My days are not full of tea clubs and garden parties, Hawke.”

“How about after our reading lessons? We can give reading a go, and then you can take your frustrations out on me with a sword,” Hawke said jokingly. “Please don’t kill me.”

“That is not a bad idea. I agree.”

“Wait, really?”

“It sounds reasonable,” Fenris said, a dangerous smile curling up the edges of his lips. “I will endeavour to be gentle. I must leave something behind for your mother, after all.”

Hawke groaned and let his head fall back against the sofa, sliding down. “Oh, shit, don’t remind me. Maybe I can blame Carver for it, since he’s home. I can’t get away with anything, but Mother’ll let Carver get away with _everything,_ I swear. He’s her ba~by.”

Fenris snorted, and Hawke grinned.

“Are you sure you’re alright with the lessons, Fenris? Both of them?”

“I am fine, Hawke.”

Hawke sat up and looked seriously at Fenris. “I know you can learn to read, and I’m really grateful and flattered that you care about my safety, but… I don’t ever want to make you think you _have_ to spend time with me. I like spending time with you, but if you don’t wan-”

Fenris swallowed hard. “I am _fine,_ Hawke.”

“Well… alright,” Hawke said amiably, grinning widely again. “Just so you know.”

“I will keep it in mind,” Fenris said.

“Good. Great. Please keep it in mind when I end up turning my arms to paste trying to lift a sword.”

“Lighter swords exist, and-” Fenris eyed Hawke’s ridiculous height and broad shoulders. “-I believe you will be fine. If your brother can learn, then so can you. Perhaps he can even be a sparring partner for you.”

Hawke went wide-eyed. “He’ll kick my ass, Fenris.”

“‘Just another form of delivering a life lesson’, weren’t you saying, the other day with Varric?”

“Fen, you can’t bring up the things I’ve said in the past. Past-Garrett is an idiot. Present-Garrett is an idiot. Half the time, I don’t even know what I’m saying as I’m saying it.”

“That explains much.”

“Don’t make me fight Carver with a sword. He’ll destroy me and hold it over me forever.”

“There is always Aveline,” Fenris suggested knowingly.

“Never mind. Carver’s fine.”

Fenris laughed. “I have… little experience as a teacher, Hawke, but I will endeavour not to be too cruel of one, to repay you for the lessons you are giving me. I will ask Aveline’s Donnic for advice. I spar with him as well, and he trains the new recruits.”

“‘Aveline’s Donnic’, huh?” Hawke looked delighted. “Don’t let her hear that.”

“Do I look a fool, Hawke?” Fenris replied archly.

“Never,” Hawke promised. “What have you seen? Have they progressed beyond stammering at each other? Isabela and Varric haven’t let me live down Donnic thinking I was interested in him. They told Anders and he laughed in my face for five minutes straight. Merrill still giggles at me sometimes. Tell me everything.”

“So you can tell everything to Isabela and the dwarf?” Fenris asked, raising his eyebrows and smiling. “What’s in this for me, Hawke?”

“My house, my wealth, my brother, my kingdom, my hand in marriage. Anything you want, it’s yours.”

“How about your dog?”

Hawke gasped. “...You go too far, ser.” He squinted suspiciously. “All of your pretending not to like Apawstate has been a plot, hasn’t it? I’ve seen you sneaking her treats, you know.”

“I’ve done no such thing,” Fenris lied. “You would trade your brother for gossip?”

“...I’d trade Carver for _good_ gossip,” Hawke said finally.

A snort came from the direction of the doorway, Fenris looked up to see Carver leaning in the doorway behind Hawke. He looked, unsurprisingly, deeply unimpressed.

“I can’t believe you wonder why I joined the templars,” Carver said.   

Hawke rolled his eyes and turned to face his brother. “To be fair, you once said, with great conviction, that you’d trade me for a pair of torn trousers. I remember because it hurt all three of my feelings. Good gossip on Aveline is worth infinitely more than that.”

“You don’t even know if it _is_ good gossip,” Carver said.

“Maybe so,” Hawke agreed. “But it’s a risk that I’m willing to take.” He turned back around towards Fenris and threw a thumb over his shoulder. “Fenris, look at the joys of having a baby brother. Are you sure you don’t want him?”  

“I am wildly tempted,” Fenris said flatly, bemused.

Carver snorted again. “Thanks, I guess,” he said. “Not to interrupt your weird little gossip club or anything, but Bodahn wants to know how many people are staying for supper, or if you’re going to, and I quote, ‘Run off into the city and stay out all night loudly punching things.’ Unquote.”

“Seneschal Bran’s determination to file noise complaints against _me,_ because of gangs trying to repeatedly attack me in the streets at night is _not_ a laughing matter,” Hawke complained. “It’s a serious problem.” Then he looked at the clock over the sitting room mantlepiece. “Shit, is that time already? Time flies when you’re having fun. Fenris, do you want to stay for supper?”

Fenris looked uncertainly between the Hawke brothers. “I do not wish to impose.”

“You’re not imposing if you’re invited,” Hawke said firmly. “The more the merrier. Right, Carver?”

“Sure, I guess.”

“Thanks for the enthusiasm, Carver.”

Fenris had been over to supper with the Hawkes before, back when they still lived in Lowtown. Hawke had invited all of his friends and companions over for a meal before, at least once, and it… usually worked out… bar a few awkward questions from Leandra. But Fenris, like Gamlen and Anders, had yet to stay at the estate for a meal.

“No, thank you, Hawke,” Fenris said finally. “I will return to my own residence now.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am sure,” Fenris said, and got to his feet. “Thank you for having me, and for the lesson.” He picked up his greatsword and added, “I will speak to you later about… further lessons.”

Hawke got to his feet as well. “Sure. You’re welcome over anytime. Can we send you home with anything? Some supper?”

“I have food, Hawke,” Fenris said, looking more amused than offended.

“Oh, well, I’ll… see you out, I guess.”

“Thank you.”

Hawke led Fenris out of the sitting room and into the front hall, and they parted ways at Hawke’s front door, after Fenris insisted that Hawke didn’t need to walk him home. It nearing sunset, but it was yet far from dark outside.

“I am capable of surviving the five minute walk, Hawke,” Fenris said.

“I know, it’s just…” Hawke sighed. “Habit, I guess. Be safe, alright? Look both ways before you cross the streets. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“That leaves an alarming range for danger,” Fenris said wryly, “but I will endeavour not to find any trouble while passing the Hightown mansions and Chantry. If any negative attention finds me, I will send it your direction instead.”

Hawke grinned. “Thanks, Fen.”

“Goodbye, Hawke.”

“Bye.”

Hawke waited until Fenris was out of sight, down the street, before he closed the door. Once he closed it, he turned, and saw Carver staring at him, arms crossed and eyebrows raised, from where his baby brother was sitting on the staircase at the end of the front hall.

“What?” Hawke said.

“‘My _hand in marriage’_?” Carver repeated, smirking. “You’re incredible.”

“Oh, like you have any room to talk,” Hawke said, and returned to the sitting room to collect the book and put it away, along with their tea tray.

Carver followed him into the room. “And what’s this about _sword fighting_ lessons?”

“None of your business.”

“Have you _ever_ held a sword in your life?” Carver demanded gleefully, like the annoying little brother he would always be at heart. “You’re going to die, but hey, I guess it’ll be ‘the most handsome and amazing’ death you ever could have dreamed of.”

“Fuck off, Carver. Stop eavesdropping on me.”

“Uh, no.”

“I have years of embarrassing stories and I will use them, Carv.”

“You’ve told them all already,” Carver said, undaunted.

“Not all of them,” Hawke said… mostly certain.

“Yes, _all of them,_ I know because you _timed them_ around your friends and I remember each incident in vivid detail, actually, and-” Carver paused. “Garrett, what happened to Mother’s sofa? I thought you two were reading in here.”

“Oh,” Hawke said. “You did that.”

“I did _not._ ”

“No,” Hawke said, more certainly. “I’m pretty sure that was you.”

Carver scowled. “I was thinking about being nice to you during our future _sword fighting_ sparring matches,” he said, “to help you impress _him,_ but now I’m definitely going to kill you.”

“Alright, _firstly,_ ” Hawke said, tucking the book under the arm holding the tea tray, so he could count off fingers. “You’ve never been nice to me in your life. _Secondly,_ there’s no way he wouldn’t notice you throwing a match. Thirdly, _stop_ eavesdropping on me.”

“I never said anything about letting you win and, uh, no.”

“Of course not,” Hawke said, and left in the direction of the kitchen.

“‘Oh, _Fenris,’_ ” Carver called after him in a falsetto. “‘I’ll give you _anything._ My home, my fortune, my _hand in marriage…’_ I’m telling Varric, Garrett!”

“Hah, shows what you know!” Hawke shouted back. “Joke’s on you! Like Varric doesn’t know every intimately embarrassing fact about my life in vivid detail! You won’t be able to tell him anything I haven’t told him already!”

“That’s going to bite you in the ass someday!” Carver yelled.

“Then at least I’m getting _some_ action. Fuck off!” 

 

**Author's Note:**

> “There is nothing I would not do for those who are really my friends. I have **no notion of** loving people by **halves** , it is not my nature.”  
> ― Jane Austen, _Northanger Abbey_
> 
> A tumblr post to [rec and reblog](https://nothingsofanciful.tumblr.com/post/170213073963)? <3


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